


Heart Of The Dragon

by Kaydu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cussing, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Genocide, Hate to Love, M/M, Precious Peter Parker, Starker, The Dragon Shifter AU I never knew I wanted, Unrequited Hate, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydu/pseuds/Kaydu
Summary: So, yes. Tony Stark absolutely loathes Dragon shifters to the very bottom of his cold, heavy heart, and dreams of a world where they no longer exist.It's quite a shock, then, when on a day of travel he meets one in a rather alarming way when he isn't even looking for it.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Kristjansson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Kristjansson/gifts).



> Just....
> 
> Just don't. I know. I'm staring at my other two active fics that aren't completed yet. I KNOW. I just..... It had to happen. It was bothering me. I couldn't THINK because this was staring at me so hard. So. 
> 
> Tada! 
> 
> Come play with me on Discord! https://discord.gg/dh2m4QP
> 
> Full disclosure; this time the Pugs DID NOT make me do it but DID actively encourage me to be naughty and post it anyways. LOL!

Tony Stark hates Dragons.

Well, that's not completely accurate. He hates dragon _shifters_. Not that there's any difference really, because if someone is a Dragon they are a shifter and if there is a Dragon, there is a human counterpart inside of them, so really it's all the same but if there was a difference, Tony wouldn't have hated Dragons per say... just those half breed humans who could shift into Dragons.

Why? Because his Father and his Mother were murdered by a small clan of Dragon shifters when he was a young teenager. He had watched it happen, hidden away where his personal guard had stuffed him out of view, watching as a dark haired man warped into a large black dragon with sharp teeth and daggered claws that raked across his father's abdomen and dug into his mother's chest in a fit of anger. His Father and his mother had been meeting with the clan leaders in order to try and negotiate more territory for the Dragons to have to roam and hunt freely without having to worry about regular humans traipsing about and were about to be offered a veritable chunk of the Kingdom's land in the interest of fostering better relations. So the attack took everyone completely off guard. His parents hadn't even had _guards_ standing anywhere near them, because there was no hint of hostility at all until the sudden deaths of his parents.

The three Dragons had immediately fled with no excuses for their attack and had left Tony and the rest of the enterauge there to stand over the dead King and Queen wondering what exactly had gone wrong and why. He was left to help pick up and transport his dead and bleeding parents back to the castle to begin burial preparation. He was left, aged fourteen and still fighting bouts of hormone induced acne and cracking voice and growth spurts soaked crimson from head to toe with dried blood flaking off of him to the floor as he reeled in the shock of what he had witnessed.

The funeral had lasted for days. The people mourned heavily. Tony's father hadn't been a particularly good father and a questionable husband but he had been a fantastic and loved ruler of his Kingdom and really... that's all that mattered at the end of his life. His mother had been admired and adored as well; with her soft and gentle voice, the way she made sure to hear each and every complaint brought to her by the citizens.... by the way she made sure that each and every person and child she passed in town that looked a bit gaunt and hungry had food by the end of the day. So, yes. They mourned for far longer than the actual funeral itself, but no one felt as much sadness as Tony had as he watched the ritual pyre climb higher and higher, sending his parents' souls off to beyond.

And it went that way for weeks. A perpetual loop of sad, numb, sad until finally.... finally he is standing in the Throne room one day, staring where his father and mother used to sit and hold court, for all of that to snap into an inferno of blistering, all consuming RAGE. And it was like a volcano, really. A bunch of pent up pressure and lava just erupting into a flurry of white hot revenge. So he gathered his fathers closest advisors and the Generals of his Army.... and planned. For a full year they met daily. Plotting. Mapping. Scheming in secret and keeping the knowledge and plans closely guarded.

Until.

He burst into the world like a terrible disease. There was no warning, no option of leaving instead of dying. It was by his own hand with his sword steady and heart thundering that he let everyone know exactly the world he was going to create. The satisfying crunch and squelch of his blade sliding between the ribs of a shifter in human form in broad daylight made his soul sing and brought a nasty smile to his face as the shifter stared at him in shock and confusion. Tony hadn't even minded when he jerked his sword back out and blood sprayed across his face in a hot wave. He watched in glee as the first shifter to die in his Hunt crumpled lifeless to the ground amidst panicked screaming and crying, his forces surging like a wave into Dragon territory and flowing from one victim to the next, indiscriminately cutting down any and all shifters that they came across. All the while, nearly sixteen year old Tony Stark stood and watched, content in the knowledge that elsewhere in the Kingdom his Generals led soldiers into human towns to drag out the shifters that chose to live with human spouses or just within the human villages and towns because they preferred the hustle and bustle over the quiet peace of the Dragon territories.

It was, of course, not received well by most of the population of humans. The shock and horror of the genocidal war against Dragon shifters seemed to come out of nowhere to them and they were rocked by the knowledge that the boy that they had watched grow and mature and flourish under his Mother and Father's hands used his absolutely brilliant mind to commit such a vicious wide reaching mass murder. It became quickly apparent to them that their dissent was not only discouraged, it was actively punished. Eventually, after too many people had lost their lives for opening their mouths, people stopped speaking up altogether. The Kingdom settled into a wary sort of uneasiness and even now, nearly two decades later, no one dared to breathe a word against the ongoing slaughter of Dragon shifters and those who sympathized with them.

Of course not all of them could have been caught. Those Dragon shifters that had been lucky enough to escape the slaughter or to be unknown to anyone as shifters or too young to have shifted yet for the first time, hid. Some went as far away as they could, brave enough to attempt crossing the boarder into another Kingdom and lucky enough to not be caught. Some simply slipped into outlying villages as far away from the castle as they could and melded seamlessly into the towns with the inhabitants turning a blind eye to random new people cropping up and treating them as if they have always been there.

It's a _'not really a secret, secret,'_ but nearly impossible for Tony's men to follow and track down and no and so, even now, they still are searching for any remaining Dragons in the Kingdom. It's not as vicious as when it all first began, but it is tenacious and does crop up fruit every now and then when they sniff out someone new.

So, yes. Tony Stark absolutely _loathes_ Dragon shifters to the very bottom of his cold, heavy heart and dreams of a world where they no longer exist.

It's quite a shock, then, when on a day of travel he meets one in a rather alarming way when he isn't even _looking_ for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh... anyone there? Lol, is it doing ok so far? Love you all, thanks for reading!!

The belief for... ever, really, that there are only a few breeds of Dragons.

The long and slender blacks, darker than night, could speed through the dark with laser vision and slender frames like a snake with agility to match. These shifters usually worked for their communities as hunters of the quicker game- mountain goats, antelope, deer. They were able to keep up with the twists and turns these animals employed to try and escape predators. They rarely came out in Dragon form during the day- the sun was always too bright and hot for their shimmering black scales.

The reds had wide heads to match gaping jaws, bodily structures that were similar to bulldogs (short legs and thick torsos full of strength and power). They flew as little as necessary and were slower but.. but, they were mighty opponents in a fight against any other dragon. Their red scaled gleamed in the sun, a warning for their jaggedly long teeth and powerful claws. They stuck to themselves, never cavorting with any other breed of Dragon. Not out of a belief that the others were less, but because their hot headed nature was usually never quite understood.

The green dragons, brilliant with their high reaching and curling horns that looked like branches with flowers springing from their heads and spines down their backs were long necked and peaceful. They never hunted unless the need was hard pressed and they disliked confrontation and bloodshed with a passion. Usually every Dragon clan of any breed had at least two green dragons amongst them to hold negotiations and peace between the different clans and the humans alike.

The blues... were rare and few. Normally there was never more than two together at a time; mated pairs that traversed the waters at their leisure while keeping to themselves and simply enjoying existence in a whole. Being the most finnicky... only having at max two to three offspring in their long lifespans. They were notorious for being able to live under the water or on land depending on preferences and their slender, small stature was quietly deceptive in terms of strength. For some unknown reason to the humans, none of the other breeds of Dragons ever engaged in fights or conflict with blue Dragons which caused years and years of speculation... even now, years and years later when people have to whisper amongst themselves in speculation so that they are not heard by anyone who may report them to authorities that would accuse them of being sympathetic towards Dragon shifters. Most people ARE, of course, but they never dare to say so in front of anyone they do not explicitly trust with their lives.

Dragons never... ever... breed outside of their own. There has always been some unspoken agreement that mixing the genes is _taboo_ and distasteful. Perhaps it's the unknown result in offspring or perhaps because they dare not repeat something that has happened in history but... it has always just been known as a thing not to do. Ever, no matter what.

Peter Parker has always been a secret.

He would have been even before the young King went mad and started a genocidal extinction of a whole race of people, because his parents... his sweet mother and strong dedicated father... they didn't follow the rules of the Dragons.

Peter never knew that there was something different about his mother and father, or himself. He was loved and cared for- cherished, really, and told constantly that he was a blessing. Being young and the center of his parents devotion, he never quite understood any of it. He never understood why they never shifted into their Dragon forms. He never really understood why they preached silence of who they all were and he never understood why he got punished for even mentioning anything to do with Dragons. He never understood why when he reached the age of his first shift at eight years old why they took him far away from their little outlying villages into a wild clearing in the forest that he had never been to before to await his first shift.

When he did shift for the first time, he clearly can remember the horrified looks on their faces. They had traded dark glances towards each other and then spent the night (in human form still), teaching him how to walk and fly and eat as a Dragon. Peter had absolutely loved everything about his Dragon, but it was tainted by the strictly guarded way that his mother and father told him he could never ever shift again for any reason, When he had asked why they hadn't initially told him, but when they caught him a few weeks later in the clearing by himself but as his Dragon self, they had sat him down and explained that his very existence was a death sentence.. with both the human King, Tony Stark, hunting Dragon shifters down but also... but also that other _Dragons_ would want to kill him, but they never went further in explanation than that. They never had to. The last thing young Peter would ever have wanted would be to bring attention to himself and therefore his parents.

When he turned twelve, his mother and father were murdered. Everyone else in the town called it a tragic accident- some wild animal attacking their little wagon as they took their goods towards the town market and Peter stayed behind with his Aunt May... but Peter knew. They tried to keep him far away from the bodies but he managed regardless, and when he saw them, it was clear. His parents had not been attacked by random wild animals, nor had they been attacked by random thieves..... the thick gashes down their backs were enough for him to correlate what his own claws would look like once fully grown. His parents had warned him, and they had been right.

They had been murdered by other Dragons, and Peter to this day, ten years later, still does not know what the other Dragon's left in the Kingdom made the dangerous chance of revealing themselves just to kill his loving, gentle family. His Aunt, who took custody of him after, never told him either. Neither did his father's brother married to her, sadly. They buried them silently and without fanfare, and that was that.

Peter fell into a dull kind of life. Wake up, help his Aunt and Uncle with chores, attend whatever schooling he had that day in the village school house, then return and help with more chores before helping fix dinner and going to bed, just to wake up and do it all against the next day. The only hiccup in his routine came when he was fifteen years old. Ben and himself had ventured into the valley a little bit further than they usually did to hunt for herbs and mushrooms to make a stew. Peter had been happily oblivious, diligently picking away at some huge mouthwatering looking mushrooms when something had crashed down upon the back of his head and knocked him out. When he had eventually come to he could see his Uncle Ben through the shrubs he had apparently been shoved into in a hasty panic, three arrows through his chest where his heart would be. Peter had walked over and with shaking hands had smoothed down his Uncle's body, finding his herb pouch and change purse still present, and sat back and cried. He knew then, without a doubt, that his Uncle was not killed in some wayward mugging, but had actually been killed by humans.... the little he did know was that Dragons killed with teeth and fang, never with manmade objects. His parents had at least taught him that.

Choking on bile and sobs he had hauled his dead uncle (sans arrows) onto his back and shoulders and carried his body home where his Aunt awaited, wide eyed and terrified when she saw him crest the hill to their cabin with Ben slung over his back. She took one look at Peter's face and dissolved into tears, unable to even help him as he slowly dug a deep grave for his Uncle. They buried him in silence and never even officially announced his death to the town but it didn't matter, everyone picked up on it pretty quickly regardless and never offered any condolences despite their sad gazes whenever Peter and May traversed into town for something.

They kept plowing on, day to day. May kept them fed, although slightly poorly, and Peter kept the garden flourishing when in season and the two heifers milked and the herbs and mushrooms and anything else he could forage in plenty. It wasn't enough for a growing Dragon shifter, not by far, but it was the best the two could do working as humans. Peter only knows how to hunt as a Dragon, not a human, because his parents hadn't been able to teach him the human way before they were murdered. His Aunt was human but clueless, and his Uncle had forsaken his Dragon side altogether and refused to even acknowledge it existed.

Because of this, Peter happened to be foraging when he heard a bang and a crash above him from the cliffside roads and had jerked his head around just in time to see not only a glossy black carriage with the royal emblem emblazed on the side toppling down from above, but also a very familiar and well known man as well, red and gold crown clanking against the rocks as it falls from the mans head.

It's not even a conscious though, really. And Peter couldn't have helped it anyways regardless. Ignoring someone in trouble is not his way.

It's because of that that between one breath and the next he bursts from the trees in his Dragon form in all it's magnificent glory, shattering the last tender threads of secrecy, so that he can gently catch the bloodthirsty King Stark in his large claws, limp and bloody, and hovers in indecision for a moment before winging upwards and to the Northern cliffs, aiming for a cave he has seen many times before, hoping that the man is still alive when they arrive.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony Stark is many things in so many different complicated ways. He is a King, of course, but he is also a business man. He is Royal blood, but his mind is sharp and cunning. He is cold and hard, but loyal to those that he finds worthy. He is bloodthirsty and war hungry, in some ways, but also sees visions of peace in his dreams sometimes at night when he is able to sleep sans nightmares. Mostly, though, he is a very wary, very standoffish man who dislikes surprises greatly... nearly as much as he hates Dragons. So, when his convoy is surprised and he finds himself on the wrong side of said surprise, he is immediately irritable and angry, but only long enough to feel the pierce of an arrow through his chest and his side. He feels his eyes go wide and he takes a deep breath in shock before the horse he is astride lurches in fear and pain as a separate arrow burrows into its jugular, a scream warbling wetly from the large animal as it rears up pawing at the air with panicked blown eyes rolling in it's skull. Tony has a moment of odd out-of-body drifting where he feels incredibly sorry for the big black steed that he had chosen to carry him on his journey today and then..... then the animal starts to backpedal on it's hind legs, gasping and choking, and there's no time... no ability for Tony to even comprehend what is about to happen before hooves are scrabbling against loose rock and he feels himself floating as both himself and the horse tip backwards and..... 

As they begin to fall, Tony loosens the grip of his thighs and calves against the horse's sides and rips his hands away from the reigns. There's a single second where he uses his feet to push against the middle of the saddle to get himself away from the horse as it starts to spin and flail in the air to avoid the sharp rounded edges of hooves, but it just a second too late. As his back bows, one hind hoof arches just enough to catch him in temple and his vision goes black, his only thought a bitter 'so this is how I die.'

………..

The first thing Tony registers is that his head feels as if it is trying to explode. His brain feels swollen, pressing against his skull and behind the front of his face, his eyes throbbing even with being closed. The second thing he comes to realize is that although his side and his chest burn like fire and its semi hard for him to breathe, he IS in fact breathing. The third thing he realizes is that he is laying on something... incredible soft and thick. It feels strangely of fur but colder and more.... spongey.... and to be honest, just a little damp. 

But really..... the last thing that reaches him would normally have been the first and, despite the raging hammer of his brain and the way his body is screaming at him, he forces his eyes lids to part so that he can open his eyes blearily and shift his gaze to the side without moving his head because... because he's heard the sound echoing around him many, many times before but that's.... that's IMPOSSIBLE because he was falling... he was DYING... there's NO WAY that...…

But there is. There IT is. Tony has a hard time... accepting what he is seeing. He knows that there have been ones that have hidden, that have escaped, but this close to the capitol? This close to his HOME? But there is no mistaking it. There's no talking himself into seeing something else because... because...

There's a Dragon. 

In the furthest corner of what Tony is sure is a cave that they are in, due to the smell and the curved stone walls he can see, and the generally vast size of it.... the sound of slow and deep breathing thunders out like a heavy wind, causing Tony's semi blood dried hair to shift just slightly. He can't make out the beast completely but the shadow of it's body in the fading sunset is large enough that he cannot mistake it for anything else, but really... really, it's the eyes. 

They are burning yellow through the darkness, set wide apart, with a dark feline slit down the center that is slightly wider than what would be normal were the sun bright. 

'No, not yellow,' his sluggish brain prattles unnecessarily, 'gold. Deep, honey gold.'

He pushes the ridiculous thought to the side and hisses and grunts in pain when he tries to immediately sit up to put himself in a better position than vulnerable on the ground and he is going to struggle through the pain, going to gasp and curse and fight his way up even with his vision blurring and darkening at the edges because he can't just let the vile beast EAT HIM without a fight but then he is flinching back down, eyes widening in alarm and his mouth parting in disbelief because.... 

"Stay still," a soft, nervous sounding voice hums out. "You're... very injured. You could cause the... the packing to fall out and reopen your wounds and invite infection." 

And Tony just. 

Did a Dragon just.... TALK? 

Tony, in all his years of being around and slaughtering shifters, has NEVER heard a Dragon shifter talk when in Dragon form. Ever. It's never even been considered possible... by anyone. As far as he knows he has NEVER heard of a Dragon talking this way. 

His breath goes still in his chest and his muscles start to tense as he stares at the Dragon's glowing eyes.

This is... not ok. This is unacceptable. Dragon shifters aren't able to speak or think like Human's when in Dragon form. They are just vicious, nasty BEASTS. 

Tony feels his upper lip curling away from his teeth in a sneer, eyes narrowing as he fights down a nasty lurch of nausea that burns the back of his throat and threatens to make him empty his stomach. "Don't speak to me, you fucking vile ANIMAL." He means for the words to come out strong and mean but his throat is dry and his lungs unable to work properly and so the words really come out as pitiful and raspy, despite their angry tone. There is an extended silence where he refuses to look away from the large eyes searing through the darkness and then the beasts head must shift and raise up, because the eyes are suddenly much higher up and Tony has to struggle to tip his chin up and his head back against whatever he is laying on to look keep the contact. The Dragon's eyes disappear for a heart stopping moment where Tony is sure he is about to have teeth sink into him, but then they are there again, half lidded and staring at him silently. It makes Tony's skin crawl. It makes him grit his teeth and wish to have his sword so that he can sink into one of those golden eyes and feel blood flowing down his arm as he listens to a Dragon scream. It makes him want.... 

His stomach growls. It's a sudden, uncontrollable thing that makes him feel unexpectedly embarrassed without really knowing why. It's quiet enough that another human probably wouldn't have heard, but a Dragon? 

A Dragon hears nearly everything.

There is a scrape and a sigh and then that voice nearly whispers out again, gentle and calm. "I will bring you some food. Please do not try to move, King Stark, you will only hurt yourself more. I will be back within an hour." 

And Tony doesn't have time to say anything or to even barely blink before the Dragon is gone in a gust of wind, moving so fast that all that Tony can catch a glimpse of is a blur of red and blue and the left behind scent of heady herbs and crisp rain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Painting Greys-Emmit Fenn  
> Blue Orchard- White Stripes  
> House of the Rising sun- The Animals  
> Hurt- Johnny Cash  
> Ruelle- Take it slow  
> Two Feet- Feel Like I'm drowning

The mountain goat was easy to find. In these parts the mountains were full of them, really, so it's not hard to spot one on the cliffs and dive to swoop it up. Peter feels bad for having to end it's life but just for a moment before his claws dig in and snap it's neck to end its fear and suffering. Peter hates the sound of the crunch of it and feels a bit nauseous about it but it's not as if he has much choice. Either it was going to be a wild animal or him poaching someone else's livestock and, well, he never could do that. He wings himself through the sky, wide wingspan shifting powerfully to send him rocketing through the dark sky. He aims slightly away from the cave, landing with a heavier thump than he meant to, but he figures that that can be excused since he isn't used to flying or hunting regularly no matter how much it falls to instinct to guide him. He eyeballs the lean goat as he nudges the carcass a little away from him, sitting back on his haunches like a dog as he contemplates his next move. 

Dragons don't have to worry about things like humans do. They hunt and then eat their prey raw, bones and all, so having to worry about accommodating humans while in dragon form has never been an issue. His parents never bothered to teach him how. Why would they?

He reflects on what he knows from his Uncle Ben's lessons on how to properly field strip and dress an animal which helps, even as he fumbles through it all using his dragon claws (much bigger than he remembers him as a child because of course they are), and eventually he has supple strips of beautiful meat that he delicately grasps and rinses off in the nearest stream after devouring what humans normally would cringe from so he doesn't let the kill go to waste, careful not to lose any pieces. He shakes them out, placing them on a rock face before rearing his head back and up to test out small spits of fire from between his teeth, attempting to gauge the proper amount. He fails about half of the time, chunks charred beyond edible, but he chokes those down regardless because he isn't willing to let any of it go to waste, and when he is satisfied with the overall product he preens for a moment, as all proud dragons would do instinctually. Before he knows it he is back in front of the cave, one clawed paw clenched around perfectly cooked goat, hobbling three legged through the entrance eager to feed the man within. 

There is a moment where he pauses, confused, head whipping back and forth and searching but the result is the same regardless. 

The Dragon killing King is gone. 

…….

Tony has made a mistake. 

He doesn't like to admit that, usually. Truth be told, he doesn't think he normally even makes mistakes. At least no one acknowledges if he does and anything he has done up until now he has never considered a mistake. 

Unfortunately for Tony Stark, sometimes it doesn't matter what you want or think... sometimes being wrong isn't an opinion, it's just cold hard fact. And right now, at this particular moment in tie, it's a horribly grounding realization for him to come to. He is bleeding again, he knows it. He can feel the thick ichor of it over his fingers as one of his hands clutches at his once again gaping side, stubbornness and hatred leading him to dig out whatever crazy greenish gloop that had been packed inside of the wound. His skin is stretched tight and raw, his head still thumping, his breathing still erratic and laborious. 

He had fled but where has that left him? 

On the damp, bacteria and possible disease riddled forest floor, gasping for breath and fighting to keep his eyes open even as he shifts from so cold he is shivering to so cold that he cannot feel anything at all. He doesn't really focus on that, refusing to contemplate what that may mean for him, and turns his face into the cold dirt beneath him with a pained groan. 

Tears burn at his closed eyes but he refuses to allow them to form and fall. Kings do not cry, especially not at his age. Kings with a history such as his definitely don't cry. 

He's stuck in his own mind for who knows how long before there is a strange sliding sound, leaves on the ground crunching and shifting from behind him. He has fallen on his left side, bruising his shoulder, which means that he can't just flip himself over to look behind him in the direction his back is bared. Before he is able to bite out an insult or slur or whatever else he can to whatever is coming towards him from behind, his breath hitches and his voice stalls in the back of his throat. 

A long slender snout peers at him, long neck having bowed over Tony's body to twist where golden eyes can stare at Tony reprovingly. Tony can't really think of that. He can't even be mad that a Dragon has had the audacity to come this close to him. 

Most of all, he can't comprehend what he is seeing right away. 

Tony has seen all four breeds of Dragons in his crusade. The reds, blacks, greens, and blues, all with their own unique features. Tony has looked into matching colored eyes, nearly indecipherable from their gleaming same colored scales. But this? This? This is impossible. 

The Dragon is blue. 

Sort of. 

Tony is sure that he has never seen anything like it, and he is pretty sure that nothing similar has ever existed before, but here it is in front of him. Blue scales are dark in the night but catching the moonlight to show their sheen. This is normal, really. Beautiful even though Tony hates Dragons with every fiber of his being, but the steady eyes peering at him are lined with... red scales. Long and wickedly pointing horns ride the Dragons brow line, raising up into ridges that sweep backwards, long and jagged with each horn ending halfway down the length of it's neck and branching into two split ends on each one. They are red. Blood red. It's cheeks end in flared scaled fin like appendages that end with more horns to frame his face which are also red, the rest of the scales on it's face a brilliant blue. Tony is so focused on the clash of the two colors that it's almost a shock when he realizes the dragons head is a mere arms length away from his own face. The hot breath whooshes over his face, too warm, and the dragon has to tilt its head slightly to the side so that Tony is meeting the gaze of a single golden eye. 

There is silence that stretches out uncomfortably before the dragons lips part to reveal sword sharp white teeth glimmering with saliva and Tony is sure this is it, he's pissed it off, he really is going to get eaten this time. 

"You left," The Dragon rumbles out and Tony entertains the thought that the Dragon sounds... both annoyed and... hurt? "You have reopened one of your wounds." The dragon shifts again, it's head retreating and disappearing from Tony's view. The King gasps in pain before he can catch it when he feels a hot, large paw curl around his torso, a single thick clawed toe shifting up to rest beneath his head as he is lifted up. He clenches his jaw, shame and fear and anger coursing through him as he eyeballs the sharp talons, body protesting as the beast begins to walk three legged through the woods, presumably back towards the cave he had stumbled away from. He wants to spit and beat on the Dragon but realizes that if the Dragon had not come looking for him he probably would have died. 

That's twice now the Dragon has saved his life, probably. 

It makes him want to hurl, to be honest. He wonders if he can catch the Dragon off guard somehow once he is better... good enough to travel home, at the very least. Then he could manage to kill it, most likely. The thought helps distract him from the pain and shame. 

Soon the Dragon is ambling into the cave again and Tony observes the mossy makeshift bed that he had crawled out of earlier. The Dragon takes him back to it and settles him back down, much too gently for an animal it's size, and then it slinks a few feet backwards and settles on its belly, oddly enough looking like a dog. There is a smell in the cave that is making Tony's mouth water and his stomach rumbles again as he pushes himself up to at least be sitting instead of laying down. As he does so the dragon's tail slides around it's long, slender frame to push … a slab of rock towards him with multiple different cooked sections of meat on top of it. Tony blinks and jerks a bit as a rush of light and heat flares up in his peripheral only to turn and see a fresh crackling fire in an oddly made fire pit. From here it looks almost as if the Dragon has gouged down into the stone to create a hole where wood and dried leaves have been set aflame. In the flickering firelight, the rest of the Dragon comes into view and it's....

Rather magnificent, Tony admits to himself reluctantly. Its main scales that run down the back of its neck, shoulders, back and tail are all that same glorious blue that takes up most of its long muzzle and head. The underside of it's jaw leading down the front part of it's neck and underbelly gleam a rich blood red to match it's horns. It shifts the blue leather like wings against it's slowly heaving sides and Tony can catch a glimpse of red on their underside. It's spine spikes are long and curved back, every other one alternating between red and blue. 

It's unlike anything he's ever seen. He knows he's staring. He's not sure what his face is doing, currently, but the Dragon lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh before it nods its nose towards the cooked meat. 

"It's mountain goat. Good for building back energy and helps with quick healing." The Dragon slides quietly away from the fire back into the corner where Tony had first seen him, golden eyes still glowing. "You need to eat. There is a trickle of water down the cave wall nearest to you, you will have to use your hands to drink it, I am sorry. Afterwards I will try and repack the wound that has opened back up."

Tony narrows his eyes and tries to sit up straight, indignant. "No, thanks, you have touched me quite enough. I would be happy were you to never touch me again." And he means it. His skin is crawling all over in disgust just thinking of how much the Dragon has touched him already. 

There is a deep inhale from the Dragon, who closes it's eyes and turns it's head to lay it across short, slender legs. "Ok," it murmurs out, tired sounding. "The poultice mixture is to your left. If you think you can do it, I would suggest repacking the wound to stop the bleeding and fight infection. I will be here, should you need... any... assistance...." 

Tony watches, incredulously, as the Dragon seems to slowly drift off near the end of his sentence. Soon there is just the sound of the crackling fire and the deep even breathing of a sleeping Dragon. 

It takes Tony a while to take care of his wound and by the time he finishes he is out of breath and drenched in cold sweat. His fingers shake as he uses them to tear into the semi-warm still cooked meat and he slips small pieces of it between his paled lips, savoring the flavor. Before he knows it he is also drifting off, laying on his side and facing the Dragon. 

His rest is free of nightmares.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter is conflicted. Highly so, to be honest. He wants to just fly away... leave the murderous King in the cave high in the mountains and let the man suffer and struggle until succumbing to the elements or the wildlife and perishing and never being remembered for anything other than being a murderous madman bent on the extinction of an entire race. But… he can’t. He just can’t, and that bothers him almost as much as the idea of keeping the man alive so that he can eventually make it back to his palace and continue the war on Peter’s people until there’s no one left. 

He cracks open one of his large golden eyes slowly, coming up and out of a shallow sleep that has not bee very restful at all. The older man, the King, is sitting with his back to the stone cave wall opposite of Peter, obviously having fought to stay awake as long as possible before succumbing to his recovering body’s need for sleep. Peter, in his Dragon form, can smell the onset of infection even though he’s not sure how he knows it at all. Instinct maybe, he muses, as he slowly stands up and stretches like a feline, tail flicking behind him in a steady cadence as he yawns wide but silently. He runs his rough tongue along his dragon-chops, dropping down in a stalk as he inches closer and closer towards Tony Stark, golden eyes shifting between the sleeping face with lips parted and drool inching down his chin and the man’s clumsily repacked wound. Peter’s snout scrunches in disgust the closer he gets as the scent of settling infection gets stronger until he has to hold his breath for a moment to settle the burning bile in the back of his throat. 

He knows, logically, that he is only smelling the intensity because his Dragon nose is so much more sensitive, but it worries him, and he shakes his head sharply as his eyes take in the wound. Yes, it will need more. It will need… well. 

He takes a measured step back and turns to dig up the rest of the cooked meat he had stored where vermin and bugs couldn’t access it and it wouldn’t start rotting and relights the fire carefully with his dragon-fire. He uses a careful claw to drag his own torn but warm clothing over and covers King Stark with it as best as he can without waking the older man and then lumbers out of the cave to squint into the bright sunlight. 

He is hesitating, but only because what he needs is not easily obtained, and not obtainable in Dragon form. He could go looking for it, on his own, but the percentage of success if he does so is less than ten percent and, well, he’s already tried this hard to keep the other man alive so he might as well follow through. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway, as he leaps from the ledge and his large wings furl out to their full span to catch the wind current. He tilts himself slightly, right-wing slanting, and careens off in that direction with narrowed eyes. 

Well. 

The only place he can go to is in his town, and the only person he can trust is his Aunt May. Figuring out how to get from the forest to his Aunt’s house naked will be… interesting, to say the least, but he will just have to figure it out, or else everything he has done will be for nothing. 

He didn’t let Stark die when he should have, so he won’t let him die now. 

He floats above the trees until he gets closer to his little sleepy outlying town and then he tucks his wings in tight and does a nose dive through the forest to thump heavily onto the forest floor and he takes a moment to shake himself out and stretch his four slender dragon legs. His tail lashes irritably as he gazes around himself to make sure there are no wayward teenagers or hunters before he takes a deep breath, holds it in deep, and closes his golden eyes to help himself focus. 

It takes him longer than it would a practiced shifter but he eventually manages it, though he is almost certain that it is more painful for him than it is for most others. He does not know if it’s because he is not as adept at the transformation or if there is some other reason but he tries not to dwell on it because, in the end, it doesn’t even really matter. 

The loud snapping of bones and a sick slick of shifting muscles and tendons fills his vicinity as his large Dragon body compresses and twists into his human body and he finds himself gasping and throwing up onto the leaf riddled ground beneath him as he shivers on his hands and knees, covered in a cold sweat and miserable. It takes a while for him to gain his bearings, as well, and when he finally stumbles to his feet he hits a few trees on his way, grasping at a particularly slender one as he fights back more nausea and tears that threaten to fall. 

He gives himself a handful of moments to gasp and twitch in pain against the final tree and then grits his teeth and shrugs off, stumbling a few steps before falling into a half jog-walk type gait that carries him closer and closer to his little village. 

He catches himself just before the edge of the forest, gasping and heaving as he leans over to rest his hands against his slightly bent knees, sweat-soaked chocolate-colored haired sticking to his feverish feeling forehead. The regular hustle and bustle of those that work in the fields are just in his peripheral and the town smithy is already hammering away, he can hear. 

There’s a moment where he considers his dignity…. And then he shrugs it off and rolls his shoulders as he stands up straight and strides into the open, naked and bared. He senses the eyes turning towards him and just doesn’t pay them any mind, keeping his gaze straight until he makes it to his Aunt’s apothecary, slamming the door open and locking it behind him before pressing his back against the door and sliding down to plant his bare ass on the wooden floor, weary eyes sliding up to meet his Aunt’s startled gaze behind the check out counter. 

“Hey, Aunt May,” he says weakly with a fragile smile.


End file.
